6. ADRIANA
ADRIANA
T he morning sunlight streamed through the thin curtains of our new home into the modest living room where I slept on the worn, floral-patterned couch. I stirred awake, my body aching slightly from the unforgiving cushions. It was far from luxury, but better than the hotel we’d left behind. And much better than the hell we’d escaped from.
I sat up, stretching my arms as my eyes wandered the small living room. The space was sparse but cozy, with cheap carpeting and walls painted a soft cream color. If you looked closely, you could find peeling paint throughout the house, but I told myself I'd repaint as soon as I got the extra money. All the furniture was second-hand. The living room had a small wooden coffee table and a worn chair in the corner with a lamp next to it. A small kitchenette occupied one corner, its white cabinets hanging slightly crooked, but functional, nonetheless. There was a four-seater table tucked away in the corner of the kitchen where Antonio and I had been spending plenty of time enjoying home-cooked meals again.
My gaze shifted to the closed bedroom door behind which Antonio still slept—the past few weeks had taken a toll on both of us. We had wandered into Staten Island in the middle of a cold winter night, my wounds still healing. But now, with spring on the horizon, my wounds had disappeared—though the memories still haunted me every second of my life. I wished I could offer him more than just a tiny rental house, but it was a start—and starts, I reminded myself, were often humble. It was Mr. Davidson’s kindness that had made it all possible. I didn’t know why he’d taken such a liking to Antonio and me, but I wasn’t about to question it. His nephew’s property was affordable, and the rent arrangement was flexible—just what I needed while trying to find my footing.
I pushed off the couch, determined to start my Saturday morning despite the corner store being closed on Saturdays and Sundays. This was partly due to how uncomfortable the couch was, and partly due to the insomnia I had been facing since that night. I padded to the kitchen and began preparing coffee, which I had become quite exceptional at, considering it was my main job at the corner store—ensuring the coffee pot was hot, fresh, and never empty. The steam curled toward the ceiling as I poured it into a chipped mug and sat at the small, wobbly table nearby. I clutched the mug tightly, savoring the warmth and the peace and quiet of the morning—something I was not used to, but had grown fond of.
A soft knock at the front door startled me. I glanced at the clock on the wall—barely 7:30 a.m. Setting the mug down, I crept over to the door and peeked through the peephole.
“Mr. Davidson?” I asked, opening the door, relieved to see his soft smile and weathered shirt.
His silver hair was neatly combed, and a paper bag was in his hand. His kindness shown in the soft lines of his face. “Good morning, Adriana. Thought I’d stop by and bring a little something. Figured you might need it.”
He handed me the bag. Inside were fresh eggs, a loaf of bread, and a small tin of butter .
“Thank you,” I said. “You’ve already done so much for us. This is too much. You know you don’t have to do this.”
“Nonsense,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s nothing. Besides, I remember how hard starting out can be. Only I didn’t start out with a hungry teenage boy.”
I stepped aside, letting him in. He surveyed the small space I had turned into a home, nodding approvingly. “Place is small, but you’ve put a nice touch to it,” he said. “How’s Antonio settling in?”
“He’s doing okay,” I replied, glancing at the closed bedroom door. “Better than I expected, to be honest.”
“You’ve got a good boy there. He reminds me of my own son at that age,” Mr. Davidson said with a fond smile. “Listen, if you need help with anything?—”
“I know,” I interrupted softly. “You’ve been so kind already. I can’t thank you enough.”
He smiled warmly and patted my shoulder before glancing at his watch. “I should get going. I’m meeting my son for coffee down at the diner. But remember, I’m just down the road if you need anything.”
The paper bag in my hands felt heavier than it was, a physical manifestation of the hope I hadn’t dared feel in so long. I set the groceries on the counter, then quietly checked on Antonio. He was still fast asleep, his dark curls spread across the pillow, his chest rising and falling steadily. I often wondered if he ever thought about that night. But I wasn’t brave enough to ask him. I could only hope he was able to erase it from his memory. The rental wasn’t much, and our situation was far from ideal, but it was ours. It was a place to start rebuilding.
As I prepared scrambled eggs with buttered toast, Antonio stumbled out of his bedroom, still half-asleep, his dark curls messy and tousled. I smiled and gently pushed a curl off his forehead as he peeked over my shoulder at the eggs sizzling in the pan. “Finally decided to wake up?” I laughed .
He yawned, rubbing his dark brown eyes. “I could smell it from my room.”
I plated our food as he poured himself some coffee, and we sat down at the table together, enjoying our breakfast in peace.
Antonio was in the 8th grade, and despite being the new kid where everyone had already formed their own groups, he made two friends—Enzo and Michael. For the first time in my life, I managed to befriend their mothers, Angela and Lucy.
Angela was a widowed single mother of two—Val and Enzo. She had a fiery, free-spirited personality. The complete opposite of me, which only made me admire her more. She had a knack for wearing bold, colorful prints that turned heads wherever she went, though she never cared who was watching. She loved handing out crude remarks in her raspy New York accent, forcing a smile to appear on my face. Something that once felt almost sinful and forbidden was beginning to feel normal and organic. And despite how much perfume she drowned herself in, you could always smell the faint hint of cigarette smoke on her.
Lucy, on the other hand, was married with one child—Michael. She often joked that she couldn’t handle having another because she didn’t want to “ruin her figure” with a second pregnancy. Glamorous and attractive, Lucy had a way of commanding attention, and people naturally made her the center of any room she entered. She always dressed in formal attire and could make the best dirty martinis in all of Staten Island.
Lucy and Angela grew up together and lived on the same street on the other side of town, which was considered the “nicer” side of town—the side you would want to reside in. But they welcomed Antonio and me with open arms, which I was grateful for.
“Any big plans today?” I asked Antonio as we ate breakfast, the smell of coffee lingering between us. I sipped my mug and glanced at him over the rim.
He shrugged. “I was thinking about hanging out with Enzo and Michael later.” He then hesitated, his gaze flicking to mine. “Will you be okay here by yourself?”
I smiled, setting my mug down. “Of course I will. I’ll drop you off and then run my errands. We’re low on groceries.”
He smirked. “I noticed. Yesterday, I caught you rationing milk in your tea.”
“Desperate times,” I said, grinning. “Anything specific you want me to grab from the store?”
“Yeah, ice cream.”
“Your wish is my command.”
He laughed. “So, you’ll come pick me up after?”
“Of course.”
After dropping him off with Enzo and Michael, I decided to make the most of my free time. I headed to the grocery store for a few necessities and Antonio’s chocolate ice cream. Afterwards, I stopped by the dry cleaners to pick up a few items I’d meant to grab yesterday. I felt a satisfying sense of accomplishment—until my car sputtered to a halt in the middle of the road. The nearest payphone was miles away, and Antonio was even farther. I was mentally preparing to start walking when a car pulled behind me. Relief washed over me—until I saw who stepped out of the driver’s side. Joey.
I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. It was beginning to feel like Joey was either my knight in shining armor or someone keeping a much closer eye on me than I appreciated.
He walked over confidently. “Looks like ya Chevy gave out on ya. Need a hand?”
I should say no. I should just walk a few miles up the road to the payphone and call someone. Anyone other than Joey. But the sun was beginning to set, and he was already here. And before I could protest, he tapped the car's hood and said, “Pop the hood, and I’ll take a look at it for you.” Like usual, he took it upon himself to help me from the karma being sent my way for the blood still lingering on my hands.
I hesitated as my fingers clenched around the wheel. My eyes flickered ahead at the sun beginning to hide behind the clouds, then back to him and that bright smile, and how he’s casually leaning against the driver’s side of my car like it was his. But I reached down and pulled the lever. I had to force myself not to giggle as he practically skipped towards the hood of the car, only to pull it up, and a plume of hot steam hit his face, causing him to back away and cough. I bite back my laughter. It would be wrong to laugh at him when he was only trying to help me. I stepped out of the car, crossing my arms over my chest, as I observed him take a brief look at the engine.
“Radiator’s shot,” he said. “This thing’s not going anywhere tonight.”
“I’ll call someone,” I said. I just wanted him to leave. He had been solving my problems and inserting himself into my life since I had landed on this island. I didn’t need him to solve this problem, too. I was capable of walking to the payphone and calling someone. I had people who would come and help me. I didn’t need Joey to always be the one. Nor did I want him to be.
He raised an eyebrow, leaning against the edge of the hood. “Closest payphone’s miles up the road. And unless you’ve got a spare radiator in your backseat, you’ll need a lot of help that Davidson can’t provide.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, suspicion clear in every line of my face.
He shrugged. “Let me help ya out.”
“Why?”
He chuckled softly. “Why not?”
“What do you suggest I do?”
“A guy I know runs a shop near here—Gino’s. He’ll tow it and fix it up for ya. He owes me a favor, anyway, so it’ll be of no change to ya. But until it’s fixed, I’ll drive ya and your boy wherever you need to go.”
I shifted on my heels. I didn’t want to take him up on his offer. I wanted to flat-out refuse. But as my eyes glanced from the asphalt to his eyes, and back down, I couldn’t say no to him. And I despised myself for how weak I was in his presence. Since I had moved to Staten Island, Joey had shown up when I had nobody, inserting himself into my life like he was always a part of it. The last thing I wanted was to be indebted to a man, yet despite my best efforts to decline his offer, I relented.
I let out a small, defeated sigh. “Fine.”
He gestured towards his car, a 1959 Ferrari 400 Superamerica Series 1. Brand new and sparkling under the fluorescent street lamp. “Let’s go. I’ll call Gino when I get back home tonight.”
As he drove, the silence in the car was thick. I felt his eyes glance at me every few seconds, but my eyes remained straight ahead. I couldn’t help but notice he was going dangerously slow, likely to buy us more time. Something I didn’t want.
“You didn’t have to stop,” I finally said, eliminating our awkward silence.
“I figured you could use the help.”
“Why do you care so much?” I wanted to know. I needed to know why he cared so much about my life circumstances.
Our eyes met briefly before I turned away. “Sometimes, Adriana, people just do the right thing. And for nothing in return.”
I felt myself relax against the back of the seat. I didn’t trust Joey. Not yet. But I also had no reason not to trust him. And he had been so kind to me since I’d arrived on Staten Island. Giving him the cold shoulder made no sense. He didn’t have to help me get a job, a job that led me to getting the rental house. He didn’t have to stop when my car broke down, but he chose to help. Many cars passed me by, but he didn’t.